


Appreciation of the Self

by ElwritesFanworks



Category: Babylon 5
Genre: (in a sense), (of oneself), Alien Biology, Autofellatio, Bathing/Washing, Bathtubs, Body Worship, Bubble Bath, Cock Worship, Comfort, Decadence, Fanon, Hedonism, Male Solo, Masturbation, Multiple Orgasms, Non-Human Genitalia, Other, Perfume, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Scents & Smells, Self-Indulgent, Tentacles, prehensile dicks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:57:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2279271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElwritesFanworks/pseuds/ElwritesFanworks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Londo has a bath, and considers his genitals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Appreciation of the Self

**Author's Note:**

> As always, I am writing this at 2 something in the morning. I am exhausted and probably have made a bunch of typos and punctuation fuck ups that I will be correcting for eons to come. I don't care. I am tired and cranky and desperate to finish this ridiculously self-indulgent porn.
> 
> Seriously, this is pretty much just porn. Londo is one of the sexiest characters I have ever seen. I am not even kidding about how hot I find him. It's ruined human men for me entirely. 
> 
> Many thanks for the fanon terms of brachiarte/i (courtesy of Andraste) and brach (Thingswithwings) being coined. Everyone who's ever wanted to think about Centauri sexy time should consider themselves in their debt - I know I do.
> 
> Also, headcanons about differentiation of brach sensitivity happen. Because I spend way too much time thinking about fictional dicks. And I butchered the anatomy of Londo's quarters so I could put a bath in there. Fuck. I don't know. I'm not an interior designer. Just go with it, folks.
> 
> Alright, enough talk. If you see any mistakes, point them out. This is my first published work in this fandom (goodness knows I have about a million high school notebooks full of embryonic versions of this stuff) so bear that in mind.
> 
> tl;dr enjoy
> 
> EDIT: fixed some minor wording issues

* * *

Being an ambassador was difficult work. The average person might think that it meant little more than attending public functions and going to dinners. It was much, much more than that. Every day, it was as though a little more weight was added to Londo Mollari’s shoulders. Day-to-day annoyances, stress, and disagreements took their toll on him, and he could only stand it so long before, sooner or later, it would become too much to face without some means of self-reward, some form of pleasure to compensate for the flashes of crisis and the doldrums of boredom.

Of all the good things in creation, baths were truly in contention to be the best.

It had taken Londo a lot of arguing and a few strongly worded letters to acquire a bath for his quarters, but each time he disrobed and lowered himself into the steaming, foamy contents, he was sure it was all worth it. The tension of each day was swept away in the warm, scented bathwater, and the little pillow that was mounted at precisely the right height was like an old friend embracing the back of Londo’s neck with its heated, vibrating fluffiness.

It was all so soothing. It reminded Londo very much of his youth, when he would play away the hours with his little toy ships, sinking enemy vessels beneath the water with the kind of great gleeful splashing that is immensely gratifying for a child.

Londo occasionally though with fondness of those days, which seemed so simple and comfortable in retrospect, but he did not ever miss his toys. He was, after all, a man. He could entertain himself with other pleasures now.

It was always his lowermost right brachiarte which reacted first to the sensuality of a bath. It has always puzzled and amused Londo that so many of the other races, when discussing Centauri anatomy, assumed that all of someone’s six were identical copies of each other. Certainly to an outsider it could appear that way – even human doctors didn’t seem to fully understand the complex relationship, for lack of a better word, that a Centauri male had with each of his organs. They were indeed all similar, and in Londo’s limited experience, seemed to generally match with one another on whoever they’re attached to, not that he made it his habit to study the genitals of his fellow men. (On the occasions when he’d been faced with them, he had never been shy about noticing, if only so he could mentally compare himself with his findings later.) So, yes, they all had a sort of unifying feature – Londo’s own being slender and particularly flared at the tips – but they were each special.

He refused to think of it as simple narcissism when he acknowledged that he was fond of each of them individually.

Londo had overheard a human once, drunk and rambling into his glass at the bar, going on and on about how unfair it was that Centauri should get so many, while he was (according to a girl who, when mentioned, Londo took to be the reason behind the man’s inebriation and misery) ‘especially under-endowed.’ He had made an off-hand comment about how he wished he could take a knife to one of those ‘smug peacock-headed bastards’ and let them ‘see how they like it’ with only one. The mere thought had made all of Londo’s brachiarti give a collective cringing spasm, and he had hurried, alarmed, out of the bar faster than he cared to admit.

It was not that he took the human’s threat seriously, of course, but the thought of losing even one of his most precious appendages was immediately horrifying. Nevertheless, in the safety of his bath, Londo allowed himself to consider the topic further.

His lowermost right brach, the first to react to virtually all stimuli, was also his most dexterous. In fact, all three of the organs on his right side were slightly stronger and more controllable than their brothers. Much as people had dominant hands, so too did most (if not all) Centauri have a dominant bodily side (though, back in their youth, Urza Jaddo had sworn that he was sexually ambidextrous – a claim which Londo never once took seriously, and had dismissed as boyhood bragging.)

The upper most pair were very dear to Londo, as he could easily lift them to his own mouth on the occasions when he desired the feeling of the soft lap of a tongue. As he contemplated them, he let them trail upwards and suckled gently on their tips, humming with pleasure at the sensation. He couldn’t bear to part with them, especially given that he was not as flexible as he used to be in his younger years, and though he still technically had ample length to take any of his organs in his mouth, it was increasingly hard on his neck to try for the other four.

Londo’s left lowermost brach was his most unwieldy, but that, in itself, brought him pleasure. Certainly there were moments when its rebellion went too far and he’d find it trying to worm its way out of his clothes in the direction of whatever pretty female caught his eye, but its spiritedness reminded him of being a young man, when any and every glimpse of a girl got his hearts racing and had him all but tying himself in knots.

His middle pair were the smallest of his brachiarti, but they were also Londo’s most sensitive. While they lacked the speed and dexterity of their brothers, and while they were always the last two to join in, as it were, they were each responsible for sending him hurtling towards wonderful climaxes at five and six that would leave him boneless and dazed for hours afterwards.

No, Londo decided, catching his lower left brach in his hand before it could knock all of the bottles of soaps and fragrances off the edge of the tub, and giving it a stern but enjoyable squeeze. Humans truly weren’t blessed in this regard, nor were any race that lacked the number, and variety, of organs that he had. He felt a sort of sadness for that drunk at the bar, he really did. To only have one, and to have that one come up short, sounded like a particularly cruel prank on the part of the universe.

“Ah, well, I mustn’t take you for granted,” Londo murmured to himself, smiling against the tips of the brachiarti nudging at his lips. He let his lower two twine around his arms and took hold of his middle set, teasing them with light, gentle sweeps of his thumbs that had him shivering with delight.

Each of his six were responding to his touches in their own ways, and what this made him feel was as much psychological as sexual. There was something immensely reassuring in the mutuality of masturbating with all six. It was a sense of never being left without some form of comfort, never being cold or lonesome. To live without such a sensation would be tantamount to castration, as far as Londo was concerned.

He felt himself nearing the point of completion as coils of arousal bloomed in his chest, and it was all he could do to catch his lower lip in his pointed teeth and bite down to stifle a cry as he began to fall. His lowermost pair went off first, almost simultaneously - they nearly always did, though it was usually his right side that lasted longer. When the aftershocks of the first two orgasms began to fade, his uppermost pair sent him back to dizzying heights again, painting his chin and throat with bursts of translucent ejaculate.

By the time his fifth and sixth pulsed in his hands, Londo was close to tears – the last two always left him poised on the knife’s edge of sensitivity, with sensation almost bordering on too much. He shuddered through the end of his last climax with a whimper and slid lower into the bath, letting the water lap up around his ears.

He basked in a post-coital haze until he could no longer bear to ignore the film that his genetic material had formed on the water’s surface, or the way that everything was starting to smell a bit like a brothel. He reached for the nearest bottle of scented oil, tipping its contents into the tub until everything shimmered emerald green and the bath smelled so fragrant that no one would be the wiser. Comfortable once more, he settled back with a lazy, happy sigh, eyes sliding closed. All his worries and troubles were blissfully far away, and in time, he began to doze off.

After his third successive yawn, the ambassador rose reluctantly from the tub, bundled himself in a nearby towel, and called for Vir. He stood, shivering, on the bathmat before his aide appeared to help him dry off and dress for the day.

“Just a robe for now, I think. I would like to take a nap,” he declared, and soon found himself sitting comfortably on his bed with a glass of brivari at arm’s length and a pleasing aria playing in the background.

“You know something, Vir?” he called. Vir appeared in the doorway, holding a cloth and a wet dish.

“This job is not so bad.”

Vir nodded his agreement and returned to the dishes, and Londo, thoroughly sated, fell into a calm, dreamless sleep, with all thoughts of human under-endowment entirely forgotten for the time being.


End file.
